


My<Dsmbr

by Aeacus



Series: Holiday Specials [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Christmas, Christmas Special, Coffee Shops, Fluffy, M/M, Mistletoe, OMG fluffy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeacus/pseuds/Aeacus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Special. This is an extremely fluffy two part JohnDave story about accidentally finding your other half at a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Why are you here? You hate shopping. And yet here you are shopping at the height of the Christmas season. Damn it. You shuffle through the crowds, trying to catch glimpses of the display cases over the heads of the imposing crowds. You hate being trapped like this. You can feel yourself getting twitchier as more people bump into you. You are about ten seconds from screaming when you see it. Oh it’s perfect. You surge forward, ignoring the complaints as your shoulder through the crowd. Your eyes never leave your target. You snatch the prize up as soon as you are close enough and then change your direction to the nearest register. You don’t even care how much it costs, you just have to get out of this damn crowd. How did you even get into this situation?

* * *

Two months ago...

You are walking through the city, taking a new path home from work than you usually do. The weather is strangely warm for this late into fall but you aren’t going to complain about the nice day. And this street seems particularly lively, making you work to dodge collisions with other pedestrians. You wonder why you haven’t gone this way before. There is a chalk sign on the sidewalk that piques your interest; “one dollar coffee: any style, any flavor, any size.” Wow, that is a good deal.

You open the door, ringing the chimes hanging at the top. You are instantly hit with the aromas of freshly roasted and ground coffees and the sounds of conversations layered on top of each other. The place is busy, but you guess that is to be expected with the sale going on. You take a moment to steel yourself against the crowded sensation and move up to the counter. There are two people in front of you so you gain a moment of time to look over the menu to figure out what you want. You end up ordering a large coffee with one shot of vanilla flavor. It wasn’t the best deal per say, but you could pronounce every word. You pass the cashier a dollar and some change and tuck another dollar into the tip jar with a small grin.

You shift to the end of the counter where you will pick up your order once it is ready, careful not to bump into anyone or get into anyone’s personal space. It feels like only moments later that the barista is calling out “John!” You raise your hand and then sheepishly lower it and move to the counter like a normal person. After grabbing your drink, you then look around.

Most of the tables are full, but you really don’t want to head back just yet. You have a feeling that this is going to be a good coffee that shouldn’t be downed on the run but instead should be enjoyed and savored. You are scanning the room when a shock of blonde (nearly white you think) hair catches your attention. There is only one person at the table for four. They wouldn’t mind you joining them for a moment, would they (he? she? The sorta long hair is throwing you off)? Well, there is only one way to find out isn’t there.

You walk over and lightly touch the back of the empty chair at the opposite corner from the guy (now that you are closer you can totally tell it’s a guy). “Is this seat taken?”

“Nope.”

“May I sit here for a moment.”

“Nope.”

Your jaw drops a little at that. Is he really going to be that rude? You guess he could; he did get that table first and seems to have been there a while and there are other seats available.

“Dude. Don’t look like that. You make me feel like I just punted a puppy off of a bridge into ice cold water because I am a stone cold bastard. I promise you I am not a stone cold bastard. I just like my space and don’t particularly like strangers getting all up in my business. My business is mine for a reason and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Oh. I totally understand. I don’t much like crowds also. Sorry to have bothered you.”

You make to turn and find another seat (maybe there is one outside) when you hear, “Waaait.” He drags the word out until you turn to face him fully. “You seem like a cool dude. I’ll give you a chance since you looked like you were going out of your way to stay out of the way of everyone else standing up there waiting for their drinks. Have a seat.”

“Thanks!” You pull out the chair, sharing a wince with your newfound friend (wait, since when is he your friend?) as one of the legs screeches against the ground. You slide in guiltily and hide the shame on your face with a sip of coffee. “Hang on... you were watching me?”

“Wondering how long that would take. I people watch. I watch everyone who comes in here unless I am actively writing something, then I might miss one or two people. But yes. I watched you.” You don’t know whether it’s comforting or disturbing that he said that line with a perfect deadpanned tone.

“Uhh...” you try to think of a way to get off of that topic, “So what do you write?”

“I’m a blogger.”

“Like as a profession?” You get a curt nod. “How does that even work?”

“I blog about shit and apparently enough people care that they pay me to write about more shit and if they pay me enough, I’ll even write about their shit.”

“Not literal shit I hope.”

“No. I do not have any mention of actual fecal matter on my blog.” As he is saying that you come to the realization that you just asked a kind stranger about shit.

“I am so sorry I asked about that. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes. I’ll shut up and leave you in peace. Sorry,” you squeak out the last word and dive again into your coffee. You hear a soft laugh from your table mate and look up over the rim of your cup. He’s smirking quietly at you. He eyes are squinted slightly but you don’t know if that’s from mirth or the angle of the sun coming in through the window. You can’t see much of his eyes between that and the long bangs that threaten to fall into his face.

“You’re cool, bro. Don’t freak. I’ve talked about weirder stuff than that with people. There’s not much you could say to squick me out. Especially after what I’ve lived with.” You watch a small shudder pass through his shoulders. “You really aren’t a bother.”

“Oh, I’m glad about that.”

The two of you continue to talk about everything and nothing. The sun travels even further down until pure golden light is streaming into the shop. At this point you don’t even think your friend (again with the friend thing) has his eyes open they are so tightly squinted shut. You notice this about the same time that you notice that your coffee cup is empty... as it has been the past ten times you’ve lifted it to your lips.

“Ah, well, I probably should be getting home. It was nice meeting you, uh...”

“Dave. The name’s Dave. It was nice to meet you too, John.”

“How did you know my name?”

“It’s on your cup.”

“Oh.” You can feel your face heat up with embarrassment as you push away from the table, wincing again at the noise. “Well, nice meeting you, Dave.”

“So you’ve said,” he smirks back at you.

“Uh, yea. I guess I did. Well, later!” You finally turn away and make a beeline for the exit, face still burning with red. Hopefully he didn’t see that with the way his eyes were closed. It isn’t until you are a block down the street that you realize three things. One, you are going the wrong direction. Home is to the north not south. Two, you are still holding your empty cup. And three, you said later instead of bye as if you were going to see the stranger (Dave, you hold his name in your head) again. What the hell is wrong with you?

* * *

The next day Murphy struck at work getting you into a bad mood and making you stay late. You took the short path home.

* * *

But the day after that you were able to take your newfound route again. There is no sale going on today; the sign instead has been decorated with cute little figures to sell the coffee. The chimes overhead again. It’s not quite as busy today as it was two days ago. Some of the tables are even open, but when your eyes catch on the white blonde hair you feel yourself smile. (That’s odd...) You walk up to the counter and order the same thing, large coffee with vanilla flavor shot. It’s more expensive today but you still tuck a dollar into the tip jar along with the extra change that you get back.

You are a little less moronic when you pick up your drink this time. You hesitate for a moment, debating on the merits of your next action, but then decide to the hell with it. You walk over to Dave’s table and touch the back of the chair at the opposite corner to where he is sitting.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Nope.”

“May I sit here?”

“You can sit wherever the hell you want. It’s a free country. Or at least that’s what they all keep telling me and then I find myself broke because nothing is free and everything is expensive. I’m surprised they haven’t found a way to charge us for the air that we breath, but maybe we are already paying for it because each breath we take is a breath closer to dying. You know holding your breath doesn’t help with that either so that idea doesn’t work.” Somewhere in the middle of his spiel you carefully (and thankfully silently) pulled out the chair and dropped down. “I wonder what the secret to eternal life will be and you have to make sure that includes eternal youth too otherwise you’d end up as a raisin at the end and no one wants to end up as a cricket. How are you, John?”

It takes you a moment to realize that he addressed you at the end of that ramble. “Uh, fine. Just fine. Pretty good actually.” You are slightly surprised that he remembered your name.

“What makes you pretty good today?”

“Well, work was a lot better today. Yesterday was hell. Why did you switch from raisin to cricket?”

“Huh?”

“You said you’d end up as a raisin but no one wants to end up as a cricket.”

“Greek mythos about the goddess of dawn granting someone eternal life but forgot eternal youth. Remembered that tidbit halfway through the sentence.”

“Cool.”

* * *

“Is this seat taken?”

“All yours, bro. Let me finish this article and then you be granted my full attention, but you better not waste it because it is worth its weight in pure virgin-blessed gold.”

“Attention has weight?”

“Dude, don’t analyze my metaphors. Ninety percent of the stuff that comes out of my mouth is fifty percent bullshit. And attention weighs one ounce per minute.”

* * *

“Is this seat taken?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

“Yea, some doofus with messy black hair, blue eyes, and pearly white buck teeth will be stopping by any minute and if you have taken his seat already he will kick your skinny ass all the way down the block and will make sure that you won’t be able to sit down without first making sure that you aren’t taking his seat again.”

“Oh. In that case,” you slip into the seat. “Wait, you think I am a doofus?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

* * *

It’s an overcast day today. The only thing that makes you realize this is that when you sit down with Dave at the table, he isn’t squinting as much. He still squints when he looks to his computer to type something up but when he is looking over in your direction, his eyes relax just enough that you can see their color. Red. You also note at the same time that his hair is really white and that his laptop is red and that he likes to wear a lot of red shirts. But his eyes are red. You don’t bring it up as the two of you fall into your usual banter.

It amuses you that the two of you didn’t even know each other a month ago but here you are chatting it up like best friends. You come in so often that the baristas know your order and have it entered and almost ready by the time you walk from the door to the counter. You always drop them a dollar plus change each time.

* * *

The chimes above the door announce your arrival (running later than usual due to your boss at work) and you start for the counter but are halted by the sight of Dave flagging you down at his (your?) usual table. With a shrug you break pattern and head to him instead. When you get close you notice two cups already on the table.

“You got me my coffee?” Dave shrugs at you. “Do you even know what I order?”

“I read your mind. Large coffee with vanilla.”

“Lucky guess.”

“I knew it wasn’t one of the super fancy ones with faux italiano names that just make the prick who orders them sound more pretentious than usual. But it wasn’t just straight black because you aren’t cool enough for that like I am. I also asked the baristas. They seem to have taken a liking to you. And don’t worry I left them your usual dollar tip.”

“Really? Cool.”

“Gonna ask one of them out?”

“What?” You splutter into your coffee. “Uh... no. No time for that with work. The art of biology doesn’t allow me much of a social life.” Dave quirks an eyebrow up at you with an odd expression but doesn’t press the issue.

(You drop another dollar into the tip jar on your way out just in case.)

* * *

You get to the coffee shop at your usual time and glance over at your usual table, but Dave’s not there. (You don’t understand why your heart twists so when you see the table is missing its usual red and white character.) You proceed to the counter anyways because you are already in the shop and it would be rude just to turn around and walk out just because Dave isn’t here (and your heart does that funny thing again).

As you wait for the person in front of you to order, you make an executive decision. You ask the cashier to include whatever Dave usually orders. (A large coffee with a cinnamon flavor shot and extra cream (not black like he said, hah!)) You drop two dollars into the tip jar, collect the drinks, and head over to the usual table. It’s still empty, but at least no one else took it. (Why are you feeling possessive over a table?) You sit down in your usual spot. That puts your back to the door which bothers you but you really don’t want to mess with the pre-established pattern (why hadn’t the back-to-the-door thing bothered you before? You are practically out in the middle of the shop instead of tucked neatly up against a wall.), so you put up with it and distract yourself on your phone instead.

You are surprised to realize that it is mid December already. Wow where did fall go and why weren’t you informed that winter was here? You supposed that is a side effect of not living with your father anymore. No more cakes to announce the season, the holiday, his pride in you. Instead you finally moved out when you went to college. A year later and he moved as well to go live with his girlfriend (you are still not sure about that development but whatever makes him happy right?) in New York. You sigh and quickly find something on the internet to buy and send him for Christmas. Speaking of gifts though...

Your thoughts are interrupted by a touch on your shoulder which makes you flinch down into your seat.

“Whoa there. Sorry about that. Didn’t realize I had the plague. Maybe I shouldn’t have touched all of those surfaces. Who knows how many people I have infected before I used the John test to make sure I wasn’t carrying. I’m like a rat that stowed away on a merchant ship that just tucked into harbor and I am doing my damndest to kill a third of Europe’s population”

Your face burns red with shame. You definitely overreacted to a simple touch. It’s not like he hit you. There wasn’t any pressure behind it at all. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me.” Dave slips down into his usual seat.

“You were expecting me though,” Dave says as he picks up the second coffee cup.

When he goes to take a sip you respond, “Yep and got it just as you like it, black because you are just that cool.” You can feel your lips curl up in a grin as he pauses his motion with the cup still up. Slowly and carefully he lowers it back down.

“I see my secret has been discovered. I should just go ahead and tell you that I moonlight as a superhero when I am not blogging and I take down all of the supervillains that creep upon this town. What supervillains, you ask? Why haven’t you heard about any diabolical plans to take over the city or any major strings of bank robberies? Well that’s because I am so damn good at my job that they never even have a chance.”

“What powers do you have?”

“Time manipulation,” he answers instantly. “I stop the fat nasty criminals before they start.”

“Sounds like you have thought about this before.”

“I might have had some time on my hands.” He smirks at you over the pun (and your heart just did an opposite twist, maybe you need to lay off the caffeine). “Though I guess my time skills aren’t perfect otherwise I wouldn’t have been late today.”

You finally notice that he hadn’t pulled his laptop out or even have his laptop bag with him. “You aren’t blogging today?”

“Not here at least. I actually had inspiration while I was laying in bed this morning and time got away from me.”

“So you showed up just...”

“For the coffee.” He salutes you with the cup. Your heart does its dance again.

* * *

And that’s precisely why you are at the mall with a billion other people. You wish people would stop touching you, but at least you aren’t twitching anymore. Something about immersion therapy floats in the back of your head as you almost throw the money at the beleaguered cashier. You grab the bag with your gift and really have to focus on not running out of the door. A quick walk will do just fine.

* * *

It’s the day before Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve Eve? No that’s stupid. You shake your head at yourself as you grab your stuff and leave work. The air is chilled and sharp in your lungs. You pull your jacket closer around yourself and duck your head against the wind. Why does it always seem to blow in your face? No matter what direction you are walking, it is always into the wind. Drives you nuts. But you will not be daunted from your current trip as you remember the small package in your backpack.

You start to have second thoughts about what you are going to do as you turn down the now familiar street. What if he doesn’t celebrate Christmas? What if he is Jewish or atheist? What if he isn’t here today? What if he’s hanging out with his family? You brain spirals out of control under the weight of the ‘what if’s piling up but thankfully your feet have continued to operate on their own without your input and you find yourself pushing open the door to the coffee shop. The chimes overhead break you out of your mental train wreck. The baristas wave at you and point to a cup at the end of the counter with your name on it already. You smile and pass them a handful of bills. It’s triple your usual tip but it’s the holidays! You have to spread the cheer. You quickly pick up your drink and head to your usual spot.

Your smile gets brighter as you find Dave buried inside an extremely fluffy knit sweater. The red fabric was bunched up around his face and turned most of his body into a fuzzy blob shape.

“Did you lose a bet?”

“Adoptive sister made it for me. It’s actually quite comfortable and warm. And if you insult it again I am obligated to beat your ass.”

You slide into your usual spot. You’ve gotten really good at not scraping the ground anymore. “Your sister is adopted?”

“She adopted me.”

“Huh.” You puzzle over how that would work.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard. The sweater is an early christmas present and since it is as cold as satan’s balls outside right now -Dante’s version- I thought it appropriate to wear today.”

“Speaking of presents...” you segue as you lean over to pull a small package from your backpack. When you straighten up you find the spot on the table in front you suddenly brightly colored. You blink the close object into focus and find its wrapping paper. The design looks vaguely familiar...

“Hey, hand me my loot. I wanna see what you got me.”

You numbly hand his present over while you continue to stare down the new object. You finally look up when you hear the crinkle of paper and watch as Dave rips into your gift to him. When he gets through the layers and comes across the object he pauses. Carefully he pulls it from the wrapping. Almost reverently he unfolds the arms and slides the aviator sunglasses onto his face. You can see the muscles around his face relax as he releases his squint.

“Welp. I feel stupid now.” You tilt your head slightly to the side in confusion. “I never thought about sunglasses.” He looks around to check out how things look with the new eyewear. They are just tinted enough to block out strong light and sharp glares but you can still see his eyes through the dark glass. Much more relaxed than before. “These are awesome. I apologize ahead of time for the atrocity that is my gift to you.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you reply as you start tearing at the paper. The print on the wrappings still tugs at your memory but you can’t seem to place it just yet. You peel it back and are greeted with the smiling green face of a familiar prankster ghost from behind the plastic window. Carefully you pull off the rest of the paper and throw it into the seat next to you. Your jaw drops as you take in the realization of what you are holding. And holy shit that’s a signature. And there’s another. There are five total. You are going to cry.

“Whoa, hold up the waterworks. Like please don’t cry. At least not here. I just found the thing on ebay. No big deal. Good lord, please breathe.” You follow his advice and take a deep breath. “There we go. Much better. Jesus, John.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You can’t take your eyes off of the treasure in your hands. “How... how did you know I’d like this?”

“Well, I definitely didn’t know you’d like it that much. Like, fuck, you’re treating it like it is the Holy Grail, not even the Monty Python one but the real ‘caught the blood of Christ’ one. I thought you might enjoy it from the name that you use to post comments on my blog.” Suddenly it all clicks in your head. The images on the wrapping paper were from a popular blog you visit on the weekends and you comment on things under ectoBiologist and Dave is a blogger and that is his blog. Holy shit.

“You run that blog. You’re Strider!” you manage to squeak out. You feel a small panic attack coming on.

“Well, yea. Didn’t you know that?” You shake your head dumbly at him. “Oh. I guess it never really did come up in conversation... Dude. Breathe.” You gulp down some more air. “Wow. I totally thought you knew which is why I worked so hard to figure out who you were on the site and trust me you did not make it easy and even then I really was guessing but I guess I guessed right.”

You continue to stare wordlessly at him. In less than a minute your world had been flipped upside down. Not only did you just find out that your favorite blog’s author is Dave (last name Strider apparently) but he just got you a limited edition Slimer figurine from Ghostbusters (one of your favorite movies) signed by the cast of said movie. Your brain is spinning so fast that you think there might be steam rising from your head. Everything suddenly stops when you think about some of the posts you commented on this weekend. You definitely can feel the heat coming from your cheeks as you remember one in particular.

“Oh god.”

“You probably just remembered that you commented on the kinks post. I was wondering why you’d post on that. That list was freaky.”

“Oh god oh god oh god.” You are pretty sure you are more red than Dave’s sweater and all you want to do is vanish into the air. You are two seconds from bolting out of the shop and hiding in your room forever. Now only if you could get your legs to move.

“Are you okay? Oh. No, dude. I mean freaky as in hot.”

“Oh.” And suddenly your lungs aren’t working again.

“Breathe.” Dave is so helpful with that. “Well since I can’t do any worse and you look like you might need a place to go break down and then recover in,” he scratches the back of his head in a very out of character nervous action, “would you like to come back to my place?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Would you like to come back to my place?” He looks at you expectantly, his eyes open and pulled up in a slightly worried expression behind his new glasses. You decide he’s right and it can’t get any worse than this and so you nod. “Cool.” He closes his laptop and tucks it into his bag. You carefully wrap the discarded paper back around the gift and tuck it into your backpack. You have never been so glad before to have such a large bag. The two of you stand up at the same time, but you let him lead.

As the bells above the doors chime, you are hit with a faceful of sharp cold air that makes you scrunch down into your jacket. You hope that Dave’s place isn’t far. You look up and catch sight of his white blonde hair ducking behind a small group of people and you scramble quickly to keep up.

Turns out you didn’t really need to and your wishes about a close apartment are answered as Dave is literally one door down holding it open. You glance up. These are the apartments over the coffee shop. You grin at him as you quickly get inside the moderately warmer entrance hall. You sigh in relief as soon as you get away from the wind. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud that echoes across the swanky marble surfaces of the large room.

“I really wish they would go ahead and put a door between the lobby and that coffee shop.”

“You live above the coffee shop.”

“Yep. Why do you think I am always at this one?”

“I don’t know, maybe you liked their coffee? The atmosphere? The baristas?”

“All of the above, but mostly for the convenience. Though they really need to start taking my request for a door more seriously. I am not built for the outdoors; I need to be pampered at all times lest something happen to this fair pale skin.” You take his monologue as a chance to look around. Your first impressions hold up under scrutiny. This place is really high end. It makes you want to take off your shoes and tuck them nicely in a corner where they won’t scuff any of the shiny surfaces. “I’ve actually been invited to beauty pageants. Bro was tempted to put me in but couldn’t make up his mind over whether I should wear a suit or a dress.” The art hanging on the wall is some post-modern warping of gold medal that you don’t understand at all. All of the furniture is velvet and very rich looking. “Not that I had any input on that decision of course. I had no autonomy as a little kid. Are you gonna come up or just stand there all day?” It takes you a moment to realize that he has once again transitioned from ramble to a question directed at you. You look to him and find him mostly across the room heading towards the elevators.

“Right. Sorry.” You duck your head in embarrassment and follow him quickly.

“No problem. This place is pretty lavish, luxurious, deluxe, flamboyant, chichi, ostentatious-”

“Stop reading the thesaurus in your head.” He shrugs at you as the elevator chimes happily at you. “Does blogging really pay this well?” You might have to take up the new occupation if his answer is yes.

“Nah. Mostly I am living off of what my brother left me when he left. He was loaded.” He pushes the button for his floor.

You feel like such as ass stumbling onto that one, but you honestly didn’t know. You can feel your cheeks heating up again. “I’m sorry for you loss,” you mumble out, finally remembering enough of your manners.

“Huh?” He quirks an eyebrow up in your direction. It manages to clear the top of the new shades. “Oh. No. He’s not dead, doofus. He’s just out exploring jungles and raiding sacred tombs with his boyfriend. Like he would leave me alone that easily.” The elevator dings open and you follow him down the hallway. When he stops to fish his keys out to unlock his door you are suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation.

You have never been a social person. All through grade school you were the loner that sorta just disappeared on the fringes of the crowd. You didn’t quite mind because while you weren’t popular (or had any friends really), you weren’t picked on or bullied in any way. You’ve always held yourself apart from everyone else except for your father. But ever since you moved out of your childhood home you’ve been studying, working, or surfing the internet. You didn’t do the social scene, and yet here you are about to walk into the apartment of a stranger you met a little over a month ago like he’s your best friend or something. (Does being your only friend automatically make him your best friend? Would he mind you calling him your best friend? What if he has other friends? What if he already has a best friend? You are starting to panic, aren’t you?)

“Come on in, dude. Mi casa es su casa. Make yourself at home. Feel free to raid the pantry if you find yourself needing a snack.” You snap back to your surroundings at his voice finding the door finally opened. It leads into a short foyer where he is kicking off his shoes. You step inside before you make the conscious decision. You glance around quickly, trying to keep from looking too nervous.

“I didn’t think you would be this Christmas-y,” you comment as you point out the red and green decoration hanging from the overhead light. Dave follows your finger and sees what you are pointing at. With a swagger he steps directly underneath it and smirks at you.

“What? And miss out on the tacky sweaters and eggnog and christmas specials playing 24 hours on tv?” You can’t quite tell if he is being ironic or sincere about that. You have a nagging feeling he might be the latter. “Oh and the best part.” He pointed up and you notice a couple white spheres sticking out of the very bottom.

“Mistletoe?”

“Yep. And I guess I am standing underneath it. How ‘bout that,” he deadpans.

“Wha?” Your brain short circuits momentarily. A couple seconds ago you were having a miniature internal breakdown about entering Dave’s apartment and now he wants to kiss you. Or really, he wants you to kiss him. You think at some point your brain is literally going to melt out of your ears will all of the shit that has gone on today.

“Don’t flip out on me. A kiss on the cheek will do.” His words focus your attention on him. Your first impression is nonchalance but as you study closer you notice the little signs that give him away. It’s not much but you have somehow picked up the art of nuances by hanging out with Dave and today alone you have learned about his nervousness. “I apologize ahead of time for the atrocity that is my gift to you.” He was nervous about giving you the Slimer. He scratched the back of his head as he asked you up to his place. And now, his eyes are wide, only barely visible behind his glasses, his shoulders are hunched up just slightly from their normal curve, his fingers are twitching very slightly to some unheard rhythm. He’s scared. And for some reason that calms you.

You smile softly at him as you take the two steps to stand in front of him. He’s gone perfectly still. Without thinking any further on it, your hands come up to cup the sides of his face, your head tilts to the side just slightly, and your lips presses against his. Your first sensation is warm/soft. The second is cinnamon and coffee. He doesn’t react for a half second before he starts to kiss you back. It’s a subtle change (but everything about him is subtle). His hands move from his sides to your waist.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you are simultaneously surprised and proud at your actions.

But mostly you are happy.

And wow this is a good kiss.

Like neither of you are pulling away yet.

You could get use to this.

After a totally appropriate time you gently pull away, noting how he leans into you to follow your lips for just a moment before he catches himself. He recovers quickly and tries to replace his usual stern ‘poker face,’ but you catch the shadow of the same smile you are wearing. You lower your hands and he removes his.

“Well, that is one way to handle the mistletoe.” His voice holds the deadpan tone that you are used to but his face betrays him with a soft pink glow.

“So are you going to show me the rest of the place or are we just going to hang out in the hallway?”

“Right. Shoes off and you can drop the bag here, well don’t like chuck it into the corner or something because I really don’t want to have to repair yet another wall and don’t ask it’s not a good story, just some brotherly strifing in close quarters, but I like to think that I am now a master drywaller though my paint skills could use some work.” While he talks you follow his instructions and follow him into the kitchen. You lose track entirely of what Dave is saying as you take in the kitchen. It’s a thing of beauty with black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Your dad would be drooling over it. The cherry wood cabinets and hardwood floor makes the place feel surprisingly warm. As does the heater, you note as it kicks on. You shrug out of your jacket and hang it on the back of one of the bar stools/chairs at the bar/island in the middle of the kitchen. You start wandering around while he drones on.

You take a closer look at the appliances on the back counter. You recognize the mixer and microwave, but not the third piece. When you get near you realize that it is one of those fancy cappuccino machines. “You literally live above a coffee shop and you have a cappuccino machine,” you interrupt his monologue.

He shrugs at you. “It’s ironic.”

The sleek refrigerator calls to you. You want to know more about Dave and what better way than through the contents of his fridge. You open the doors and peek inside. Every single shelf is lined with either eggnog or apple juice. There is honestly no room for any actual food. You feel your jaw drop a little. You didn’t know you were allowed to buy that much eggnog.

“Dave, you have a drinking problem.”

“I warned you about the eggnog.”

“But the apple juice?”

“I like apple juice. You gotta problem with that?”

“Nope.” You just shake your head and close the door. When you turn back to him, he is in the middle of taking off that gigantic sweater. His undershirt has clung to the yarn so you get a nice eyeful of this bare torso. He’s not really exaggerating when he says he has ‘fair pale skin’ but you didn’t realize that it was covering pure toned muscle. You instantly feel a little self conscious about your own abs (or lack thereof). This is so unfair. He gets the money, good looks, and ability to give perfect gifts. (Did you just call him good looking?) He manages to get the sweater halfway off before his arms become stuck in the fluffy mass, unable to get any traction or leverage. He twitches a couple times before you see his shoulders slump in defeat.

“Okay. Yea. This is most embarrassing.” He pauses. “Well, are you just gonna enjoy the view or help me out?”

You laugh at him and go over to help. You pull down his undershirt with a wistful expression that you are glad he can’t see before you work the red mass over his arms and head. When it finally comes off you laugh again at the state of his hair. The static charge from the knitted yarn has made it stick out in all directions like one of those craft pom poms. He quickly ran his hands through the thin white strands but it didn’t help much.

“Shut up.”

“Why? It’s cute.” What did you just say? You hold your breath for a moment. You totally didn’t mean to say that outloud. What were you even doing thinking that? You wait for him to be weirded out by that but then he smiles at you. It’s just a little one like the one that you saw after the kiss (you are still not a hundred percent over the kiss).

“Whatever. So now that we are here and you seem perfectly sound of mind and breathing properly without reminders, what would you like to do?” You hate this question. You absolutely despise it. As soon as someone asks it, your mind goes entirely blank. Hang out suggestions? 404 Error, file not found.

“Uh...” Very eloquent.

But Dave seems to pick up on the problem and covers for you. “I have some shitty video games we could play or we could watch a movie or we could do each other’s nails. I think Bro left some of his neon colors. How do you feel about fuschia glitter? I think it’s called ‘Notice Me’ or something like that.”

“Movie is fine.”

“Cool. I got a collection or we could find one of those Christmas specials I was talking about.” Again you get the feeling that his love for Christmas specials isn’t ‘ironic’ or any other form of bullshit he usually tries to pull.

“Shit, let’s be Christmas-y.”

“Sweet. Okay, so I’ll find something on cable and you hook us up with some popcorn. In the pantry, third shelf? Maybe. I don’t know. Just dig around in there until you find it.”

“Okay.” You head back to the kitchen and after a couple long seconds of searching you finally find the pantry. Then it takes you another couple long seconds to find a packet of popcorn because they totally weren’t on the third shelf. Try the sixth. You throw two packets into the microwave and then go through nearly all of his cabinets to find a bowl large enough for the snack. When the popping drops off enough you pull the bags out and dump their hot salty buttery goodness into the bowl and head back over to where you hear the opening credits to something playing from the television.

You have to pause at the back of the couch to admire the setup that was the entertainment center. Everything is sleek and black and fancy as hell. The screen takes up most of the wall and the rest are for the speakers, not including the ones set around the rest of the room to ensure surround sound goodness.

“Gimme! Gimme my om noms!”

You look down and see a pair of grabby hands reaching up from the couch. Looking beyond them you see a cocoon of blankets topped by a pair of shades. You are thoroughly impressed by the detail of the bundling. You aren’t even sure how he got his arms out.

“What.”

“Gimme!” he repeats. You blinks at him. Obviously you’ve blown a fuse somewhere in your brain and you are imagining this childish behavior in someone who prides himself on his deadpan abilities and famed ‘poker face.’

"What?" you dumbly repeat.

"The food. Come on and get seated. The credits are nearly through." He wiggles around so that he is no longer stretched along the couch, giving you room. With a resigned sigh you move around from the back and take the proffered seat, making sure to stay on your cushion and not brush against him. That doesn’t stop him from promptly grabbing the bowl from your hands and then flopping against you. You tense briefly at the unexpected contact but you aren't as freaked out as you thought you would be. It’s actually... nice? You nod to yourself. Even though he is invading your personal space, you are okay with letting him in. You think it might have something to do with the kiss. And maybe something to do with the fact you want another...

You turn your attention back to the television to get yourself off of that train of thought. You find that the chosen Christmas film is one of those claymation classics. You can’t help but smile at the cheesy choice because you know that Dave will argue to his dying breath that he has chosen it for ironic reasons when it probably is a favorite of his.

At the next commercial break, you glance over at him and notice that he is still wearing the shades you got him.

“Don’t you want to take those off?”

“Nope.”

“Are you ever going to take them off?”

“Nope. I am going to have them surgically grafted onto my face so that I won’t ever even accidently take them off.”

“That sounds excessive. But I am glad you like them.”

“I really like them. Thanks.” You understand that he is being sincere when his voice drops into a soft tone.

“You’re welcome. But seriously, let me go turn the lights off so that you can ironically enjoy the movie without them.”

“But it’s such a perfect ironic gesture to wear sunglasses inside!” He shifts his shoulders just enough that you are effectively trapped. Impressive.

“Come on. Let me up.”

“Nope.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“Come on!”

“Nope.”

“Well, tough.” You grab him and push him off. Immediately he makes himself stick straight, making it harder without the proper leverage, but you manage to lift him clear enough to slip off the couch, dropping him back into your spot with a soft thump.

“Whoa. Who woulda thunk that a nerd like you had that much muscle?” he calls out to you as you walk around and hit all of the light switches. The curtains over the windows are already closed so the room becomes a nice and cavelike. With only the soft glow from the television, you make your way back to the couch. Dave has already sat back up to let you take your spot back.

“There. Now we have the proper movie watching environment so you can take off those glasses.”

“Fine, fine.” He lifts him off of his face with a care greater than you treat your prescription frames with. Suddenly you find your lap full as he apparently decides that the end table on your side is where the shades should be. You freeze up a little and push yourself back into the couch to get out of his way as much as possible. You start to relax a little as he draws back but then he stops halfway and just sorta drapes himself across your lap.

“Um...”

“I am commandeering your lap.”

“Uh...”

“And no there is nothing you can do about it.”

Well, there is, but for some reason you don’t actually want to shove him off onto the ground despite what you thought your natural reaction would have been. Instead you take a deep breath and accept the situation. You realize that your hand is floating awkwardly in the air so you tentatively lower it until it is resting on top of Dave’s blanket cocoon.

It’s kinda hard for you to pay attention to the movie while Dave is laying on top of you. You feel super aware of him, of his heat, of his breathing, of the way he laughs lightly at the humor in the movie in a way that you would have missed if you hadn’t been touching him. You are sitting in the dark with a guy draped across your lap. A guy that you kissed not twenty minutes earlier. You are waiting for your neuroses to kick in but instead you are quite comfortable. And you keep thinking about that kiss. No it wasn’t your first one (you aren’t that socially inept), but you’d rank it in the top three of the best kisses you’ve had. You wonder if the next one will be as good-

Wait.

Next one?

You force yourself to pay attention to the antics of elves and reindeer and misfit toys.

Which is definitely easier said than done.

You didn’t realize one guy could produce this much heat. You briefly wonder how he didn’t overheat (or spontaneously combust) in that giant sweater.

How weird would it be to touch his hair? Probably pretty weird. But it looks so soft. Damn.

Oh look a giant angry yeti.

Rudolph has a red nose and Dave has red eyes. Well at this point, you aren’t sure that he owns anything besides jeans that doesn’t have red on it. It’s a good thing you like red.

Rudolph and company save Christmas! Yay. Wait. That means the movie is over. But you really don’t want to move. Because that means that Dave won’t be on your lap any more. You stay perfectly still as the credits scroll up the screen.

He starts shifting in your lap as the programming shifts to a commercial. He pulls away slowly (reluctantly?) to sit up on his knees.

"Uh John...” he begins. That slight nervousness is back. “How are you doing? I mean you haven't run screaming out of my place so I'll take that as a good sign. I mean, what I am trying to say is that... you are a good friend and I don't have many of those. Plenty of fans and some really creepy and obsessed fangirls that would kill to get a lock of my hair to put in locket or some other satanic ritual. There's my weird family, but honestly Bro's never around and Rose isn’t even my real sister and she’s all the way up in the Middle of Fuck Nowhere, New York. So having a real friend is kinda important, and I don't wanna fuck it up, but I kinda do wanna fuck it up, but in a good way if you know what I me-" you interrupt his pointless rambling with a kiss. And yes. It is just as good. If not better.

When he relaxes into the kiss, it definitely gets better.

Like holy shit.

This kiss just blew past the others one. What other kisses? Have you ever been kissed before? Apparently not if this is what kisses are supposed to feel like.

Some small part of your brain is still functioning enough to bring your arms up to his shoulders and you can feel him hesitantly reach for you. Slowly, almost distractedly, the two of you come together. He sorta ends up in your lap again but only because you can’t turn too much on the couch because he is sitting so close. You can’t really get over how warm he is and how soft his lips are. Right now your lips are just pressing together but since you obviously don’t know how to do kiss you are kinda scared to do anything else.

What if you are actually really terrible at kissing? Then he won’t want to kiss you again and you really want to keep kissing him and kiss him again and again. You don’t want to give away the fact that you aren’t an expert at this, you don’t know what you are doing. But what if he is expecting you to do something? What are you supposed to do? What is supposed to happen next? You can feel your heart speed up a little. You wonder if he can feel it. Hopefully, if he can, he just thinks you are excited (which you are) instead of nervous as hell. Where is all of your confidence from the mistletoe kiss? (You have no idea.)

Then he takes the lead and really starts to kiss you back. You are very relieved. Your brain is desperately taking notes about what to do. You settle for mimicking what he does as he starts to move his lips a little. You revel in the sensation of how they slide against yours. You pull him a little closer. Then you feel the tip of his tongue briefly peek out and brush against yours like a question. An invitation. Something that you return.

You can feel his lips quirk up in a slight smile. You probably would have missed it otherwise. But you can’t dwell on it for long. Or more precisely, you aren’t allowed to before his tongue comes back and catches yours. As you retreat he follows. You part your lips a little farther to let him in and god it feels amazing. His mouth is hot and inviting and tastes of popcorn but you suppose you taste of popcorn too so it’s even. But that detail is pushed to the back of your mind as he continues to kiss you. Everything is pushed to the back except for him. (Are you even breathing?)

(That’s actually a pretty good question.) You feel the dull burn of need for oxygen in your lungs so you regretfully close your mouth slowly, trying to balance the need to kiss with the want to breathe. (Wait. It’s supposed to be the need to breathe and want to kiss...) Dave gets the idea and retreats and the two of you finally part with a smack of lips. You try to gulp down fresh air without panting too hard but you note he is doing the same.

“Um... so I guess you are amenable to this thing that we are doing. I mean you still feel like my best bro but I want to kiss you silly and that really isn’t much of a bro thing to do. Is it bad that I really want both. You are my cake, John, to my Marie Antoinette. I don’t care if everyone else is starving from lack of John, I really want to selfishly keep you for myself. And I am totally rambling again so I am going to shut up and let you interject into the conversation a little because I am pretty sure you haven’t actually said anything in a while now that I think about it. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to, not pushing you into anything not even into speaking.”

You just let the soft grin creep onto your face at his speech. His voice had a natural rhythm to it that you now recognize as a side effect from his rapping habit that he has posted to his blog every once in a while. The internet or his recording equipment really distorts his voice from what you are hearing now. You like the version you are listening too now much better. And you like how his lips move around the words. You are so taken with them that you don't realize that you are leaning in until you've closed half of the distance. And then you go ahead and close the rest.

You feel him relax against you, giving into the kiss. He's pulling away faster time, but stays close, leaning against you.

"You can't keep doing that."

"Doing what?" you ask innocently (you're not innocent).

"Kissing me to shut me up."

"But it's effective. And I think I like it."

"I like it too, but-" you interrupt him with a quick kiss. He pushes you away. "Dude." You grin at him. This is a great avenue for your pranking. "No. Seriously you can just say something instead of always ki-" Oh yes, this would be fun. "Really? I me-" Kiss. “Oh my go-” Kiss. “Jesu-" Kiss. “Are you rea-” Kiss. “Fine.” And he initiates the next kiss.

This one holds longer and slowly shifts into an open mouth kiss. Our tongues brush against each other and it is still magic. After the initial push, the kiss turns lazy. You sink back into the couch, pulling him gently with you until he is basically on top of you. He's hot (temperature-wise (other-wise too but that's beside the point)) but that just highlights everywhere the two of you are touching. It amazes you that you are enjoying touching him and you actually find yourself wanting more. But would he want more? You don't even know if he wants this to be official. What if he doesn't? You feel something in your chest tighten up.

"Do you wanna be my boyfriend?" you murmur against his lips even before the decision to ask fully clears your brain.

"Yea," he murmurs back. And suddenly everything is right in the world.

You smile and pull him sideways onto the couch so that he is lying somewhat on top of you, turning him into a nice heated blanket.

The two of you kiss for a long while like that until the movie after next starts and you react violently to the sound of chipmunks singing. Dave laughs at you but changes the channel anyways. He settles back down where his head is lying on your chest. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. This is comfortable happiness.

It's another claymation movie but as long as it's not the chipmunks you put up with anything to stay under Dave.

* * *

You wake up to soft heat against your lips. You let it continue for some time, slowly responding with your own soft movements and murmurs. You smile at the faint laugh that comes from very close and is felt throughout your entire body. When your eyes finally flutter open, you find half lidded red ones looking back at you.

“Hmm... sorry,” you yawn. “Must have fallen asleep.”

“Am I really that boring, John? I am failing as a host if I cannot keep you entertained enough to stay conscious.”

“You are an excellent host, Dave. I am just a terrible guest. So rude.”

“Very rude. What am I going to do with you?”

“Kiss me some more?” you ask through a yawn.

“Promise not to sleep through the kisses?”

You think about this. You don’t want to sleep through the kisses because the kisses are really nice but the trolls are coming and the people need their hero even if you are only wielding an abominable hammer and traveling with your dentist.

Wait.

What?

You have no idea where your thoughts just went? It feels like your brain is only half there because the other half is over in the Land of Wind and Shade calling up the lightening bugs.

Wait. You are doing it again.

“Can’t promise. Can’t even not sleep through thoughts. Time is it?”

“Four in the morning.”

“Huh. Prolly should get home then.”

“What? No. You can’t go home right now. You can’t even keep your eyes open.” Oh, is that why everything is so dark? You open your eyes again and smile at your boyfriend (that happened before the dreaming right?). “Nah, John. You are gonna stay here tonight. I just was waking you up to see if you wanted too...” Dave trails off, thinking about something.

The way he says your name has perked you up a little, or at least enough that you are managing to keep your eyes open. You watch as he bites his lower lips and you are overcome with the urge to bite it yourself so you lean in for a kiss. After a couple seconds he is pulling away again, seeming to have come to a decision in his head.

“Would you like to go to my bed now?”

Somewhere in the back of your head you think that this might be a big deal but right now it just sounds like a perfect idea. “As long as Dave comes with.”

“Of course, John. Though I’m right here you know.”

Oh, that didn’t stay in your head. It doesn’t matter anyways because the idea was conveyed and Dave is currently extracting himself from his position on top of you and helping you to sit up.  You cling to him sleepily as he pulls you to your feet. Together you stumble into one of the adjoining rooms. You are hit with the impression of organized chaos all thrown in tones of black and red. You don't have long to study it before he's talking again.

"Are ya gonna sleep in your jeans? I mean usually I shuck down to my boxers and I'll keep my shirt on since you are staying here and that might be too weird. I'll keep the pants on too if ya want." Instead of answering you simply comply with his suggestion of removing your jeans. You have your ghostbuster themed boxers on but since he got you the Slimer, you don't think he will care. In fact the way he's smirking means he thinks its cute. He replicates your actions and you find yourself admiring his card suit ones. You smile in return and pull him into a quick kiss before the two of you tumble merrily onto the bed. With some laugher and sleepy tussling, the two of manage to find comfortable positions entangled in the sheets.

"Good night, Dave."

"Merry Christmas, John."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Alright, after holiday shameless plug: If you liked My Dsmber then please go check out my other works. All Homestuck ranging from one shot to short story to epic novella.
> 
> I am also on Tumblr and I have a pesterchum as aeacusTero. I don't bite and I love to talk. If I am online feel free to drop me a message. Thanks for reading!


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